


I Need a Witness (to See the Mess I've Made)

by JerseyGirl324



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral Sex, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl324/pseuds/JerseyGirl324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor looks to the past in hopes of a better future; the Master stakes his claim. All Jack can do is watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Witness (to See the Mess I've Made)

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a stand-alone piece, but also serves as a follow-up to the events in [Sex and Violence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/642296) and [Year of Living Dangerously](http://archiveofourown.org/works/676779).
> 
> Now complete is an alternate cut of this fic, which takes place from the Master's point of view: [The Scars of Your Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/984017)
> 
> Featured artwork by my wonderful fiancee [awabubbles.](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v384/awabubbles/doctormasterbruisesstory.jpg)

The flight deck of the Valiant is eerily quiet and deserted; the only sound is the gentle _whirring_ of the ship’s control panel and the faint hum of its massive engines. Jack waits alone in the middle of the vast space, fully clothed but bound securely to a crude metal chair and gagged to ensure that he creates no unwanted disruptions. He realizes that he has been brought here for a very specific purpose, but despite enduring months of the Master’s endlessly creative torments, he cannot even begin to imagine the sociopathic motivation behind this newest game.

He doesn’t have to speculate for long. As if in answer to his silent fears, the elevator door slides open and the Master emerges onto the flight deck, one arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a visibly uneasy Doctor. Jack is surprised to see that his friend has been de-aged and meticulously dressed for the occasion. He sports a single-breasted black suit cut in the British style, the jacket’s two buttons positioned low to reveal a pressed white shirt and dark silk tie. The well-tailored ensemble is completed with a pair of gleaming black oxfords that stand in stark contrast to his favoured trainers, lending a final air of formality to the overall presentation.

The Doctor’s attire may be impeccable, but he feels distinctly uncomfortable in the elegant costume. The Master has dressed him up like a precious porcelain doll; a mere puppet with no will of his own. He managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of himself in the bedchamber’s mirror, and the smallest shiver of fear had crept upward from the base of his spine as he realized that it could just as easily have been the Master staring back at him from the bewitched glass.

With ill-concealed misery, the Doctor now finds himself being steered towards the conference table on the deck’s lower level, twin hearts breaking as he furtively appraises Jack with eyes that remain respectfully downcast. The Master’s firm grip on his waist is a subtle reminder that he must behave; he must play his part in the elaborate masque that has been scripted for the human’s consumption. But even he doesn’t yet know what this choreographed evening has in store.

  _You would be wise to cooperate. For his sake if not for your own._

The Doctor cringes almost imperceptibly as the other Time Lord’s threatening voice echoes loudly within his mind, a final warning of the dire consequences of disobedience in this perverse dance between them. The Master has made his purpose clear; there is nothing left to do but dutifully follow along as his partner conscientiously leads him through the degrading steps.

 _You know I will_. The reply is soft and unassuming. _Just don’t hurt him._

The Master smirks noncommittally as he backs the Doctor into the table, urging him to lean against its clear surface with authoritative hands that are a continual source of both pleasure and pain. The two Time Lords make for a dangerous pair: a volatile combination that still smolders even after the passage of so many tortuous centuries. They had been inseparable in childhood, both brilliant and mischievous in their own unique ways. In their Academy days, it was widely believed that together they might be capable of anything.

The Doctor allows himself to be displayed without resistance, shuddering as the Master unzips his trousers and allows them to pool around his ankles. His cock twitches traitorously as it is removed from his pants, and he struggles to conceal the blossoming flush of shame that creeps expressively across his pallid cheeks. Even in the most demeaning of moments, he still hopes to catch a glimpse, however fleeting, of the man he once loved. The Doctor knows that a small part of that man continues to exist, buried deep within the Master’s psychotic mind. He tells himself that the insane Time Lord is really just a frightened boy, _convinces_ himself that he will be the one to save his beloved friend from the madness. Perhaps he can somehow heal them both.

Despite his embarrassment, the Doctor gasps softly in surprise as the Master kneels gracefully at his feet, taking the tip of his cock between moist lips and humming gently in encouragement. He can’t recall the last time he was on the receiving end of such ministrations, and moans at the unexpected attention in spite of himself. The Master chuckles at the telling reaction and swirls his tongue deliciously around the head before licking nimbly up and down the length of the shaft, working from root to tip with practiced restraint. The Doctor throws his head back and sighs deeply, unable to quench the slow-burning flame, wanting more, _needing_ more…

 _Beg for me_.

The knowing command weaves through the hidden alcoves of his mind like delicate strands of silk, rich with promises of forthcoming satisfaction. His Koschei was always a shameless tease; he would give up nothing until his conquest had been reduced to quivering desperation. The Doctor remembers the total bliss of surrendering completely to his old friend, but knows that more than just simple pleasure is now staked on his unquestioning obedience to the Master’s orders. Refusal is hardly an option when life itself hangs in the balance.

 _Master, please…please_ _take me._

 _No no,_ comes the chiding reply. _I want to hear you beg out loud…_

The Master grins devilishly around the head of the Doctor’s cock as a sudden rush of humiliation cascades over their linked minds, enveloping them in feverish heat. He revels in his opponent’s internal struggle, fought out in the open before the quiet strength of a patient enemy. The Doctor cannot hide from him now. His foolish modesty, his sanctimonious morality, will ultimately yield to his undying compulsion to protect his stunted humans—to protect his _freak_. Although no one knows better than the Doctor himself how poorly of a job he has done so far.

“Master, _please_ take me…” The words come forth as a ragged, broken entreaty that shatters the unnerving quiet of the scene, startling an incredulous Jack who looks on in alarm.

 _Good boy_. The Master purrs his approval, filling the Doctor’s mind with images of red grass and silver-leafed trees as he smoothly takes the expanding cock straight to the back of his throat, relishing the cool, soft flesh as it grows hard beneath his careful tongue. The Doctor’s feedback is encouraging; the shame melts away like snow under the duel suns of their shared home as he opens his mind beautifully to his fellow Time Lord, allowing sensations of pleasure and arousal to explode like supernovas between them. And although it is subdued cries of “Master” that escape the Doctor’s parted lips—for he would never dare say anything else aloud—the pleas that flow from his frenzied brain are for _Koschei, Koschei_ as his old lover pleasures him just as he used to in happier times.

Through the transcendent haze, the Doctor dimly becomes aware of the Master slowly getting to his feet. His legs are nudged further apart as two slick fingers enter him, opening his body just as the other Time Lord has already opened his receptive mind. He whimpers softly as his prostate is brushed with a fleeting touch, and watches through glazed eyes as the Master unbuckles his own belt, the barest hint of a predatory smile dancing across his swollen lips.

_You’re always so ready for me._

The Doctor is coaxed upward onto the surface of the conference table, and it is only moments before the tip of a cock presses insistently into the cleft of his arse. With one swift push, his body and mind are simultaneously overcome; he cries out as the Master easily buries himself to the hilt, kissing him deeply with a probing tongue as he stretches and fills every inch of  his pliant form. Memories from their childhood are filtered into the deepest crevices of his psyche: the two of them lying on a blanket in the red grass, kissing nervously for the first time, learning each other’s bodies and holding on tightly as though they could never bear to let go.

_Do you like that, Theta?_

_I’ve missed you so much, Koschei._

The Master moves in a fluid rhythm, taking refuge in the familiar velvet heat of his accommodating Doctor, who sways seductively beneath him as they work together as one. In the private world of their conjoined minds, the morning sun rises magnificently over snowcapped mountains, and the shining leaves of the forest are ablaze with the brilliant light of the coming dawn. The young lovers giggle softly as they tentatively touch and explore, careful not to go too far, too fast. But they are ready and eager; they have waited so long for this moment…

_Mine._

_Yours._

The steadfast vows rebound between them sharp and clear as a tolling bell, neither Time Lord able to identify who had spoken first. The outside world falls away and there is only peaceful, uncomplicated bliss as they promise themselves to one another for all eternity.

But suddenly, at the very height of their joy, the landscape shifts without warning; the youthful pair abruptly fades away, and the bright sun is eclipsed by cold blackness. Caught off guard, the Doctor lets out a strangled sob of terror as increasingly disturbing visions flood his mind, borne along by the strong, dark undercurrent of the incessant drums. He kneels in chains at the Master’s feet, warm blood dripping ominously down his back. He gags in agony as a hard cock spears the back of his throat, using him without mercy, without pity. The world outside burns, but he can do nothing to stop it. He is a slave born to serve his Master.

_What are you doing?! Please no more…_

Frantically, the Doctor attempts to reinstate his dormant mental barriers, to construct a makeshift levee against the rising tide that batters his fragile psyche. But his belated efforts are ultimately in vain; the connection between them is too strong, and his desperate, unspoken pleas go unacknowledged as brutal fantasies meld together in a terrifying phantasmagoria of torture and destruction. The Master fucks him roughly now, the last haunting remnants of pleasure quickly morphing into an insidious pain that wrenches raw screams from his parched throat.

_Ko-Koschei…Master! Please stop…_

Just when he is sure that he can bear it no longer, the Master eases the onslaught and shows him something else: the two of them, older now, standing side-by-side and looking down with satisfaction on a new empire of their own making. Their eyes are sparkling and alive: a pair of omnipotent beings, the last of their kind, vested with the absolute right to control time itself. They are gods incarnate, consecrated with the power of the Vortex, the universe at their disposal.

 _Can’t you see, Doctor?_ the Master prompts quietly. _Can’t you see that you are meant to stand with me?_

The Doctor does see. And at once understands with chilling clarity. _You know I’ll never pay that price_.

 _But it’s what we always dreamed about_ , the other Time Lord whispers hypnotically. _It was always meant to be the two of us. Before you ran._

_I’m sorry, Koschei. I’m so sorry…_

_It doesn’t matter what you choose_ , his tormentor remarks icily. _Partner or captive, you’ll always belong to me._

The Master tears open the Doctor’s crisp white shirt, sending its delicate buttons skittering haphazardly across the flight deck. He runs cool hands idly over the bare skin, goose pimples forming in their wake as he continues to pound into the hot, yielding body that writhes beneath him. All but forgotten, Jack emits a muffled scream of horror as the intimate secrets hidden beneath his friend’s unblemished clothing are exposed to his widening gaze.

  
The Doctor’s pale chest is a sadistic tapestry of welts and bruises, a patchwork quilt of nasty purples, browns, and reds. In some places, the wounds appear to be healing; in others, they are so fresh that they must have been inflicted only hours earlier, traces of blood still visible on the sensitive skin. The Master reverently traces the crisscrossing scars with a precise tongue and a scrape of pearly teeth, utterly entranced by his own handiwork. With a low growl, he grabs the Doctor’s dangling tie and cinches it around his windpipe, savouring the exquisite tightness of his partner’s sphincters as they spasm frantically around his cock. He doesn’t cut off enough air to trigger respiratory bypass, for he too can feel the silent gasp, the sharp intake of breath as their commingled neural pathways are flooded with heady, disorienting arousal.

 

 _Touch yourself_ , he orders firmly. _Make yourself come for me._

The Doctor sighs deliriously as his prostate is repeatedly grazed with the tip of a persistent cock, drops of pre-come sliding lazily down the shaft of his renewed erection. The Master’s psychic fingers expertly massage the pleasure centers of his overstimulated brain, bringing him close, so very, _very_ close. The Doctor obeys the command without a word of protest—he is expected to put on a good show—and strokes himself languidly in rhythm to the Master’s domineering thrusts. He is teetering on the razor’s edge of climax when a taunting, honeyed reminder insinuates itself into the farthest reaches of his consciousness:

_Oh, and Doctor?_

_Yes, Master?_

_Be sure to scream my name aloud when you do…_

Manic laughter erupts like wildfire within the Doctor’s mind as he quickly and compliantly brings himself to orgasm, the Master’s name forcefully torn from his gasping lungs as he spatters fitfully onto his bruised stomach and chest. Moments later, his trembling body is inundated with his lover’s own vigorous release, and the room spins out of control as they both collapse in a tangled daze atop the smudged, sweaty glass of the conference table.

“Was it good for you, _Theta_?” the Master sneers, breath harsh against the Doctor’s ear. “I certainly hope that it was.”

He permits himself some time to bask in the triumphant afterglow before finally withdrawing from the sniveling Doctor, tersely severing the psychic link between them and leaving his partner bereft at the loss of contact. He promptly tucks himself back in, zipping up his crumpled trousers and refastening the belt with a smug air of victory. It is only then that he turns his attention to the neglected human in the nearby chair. Jack regards him warily, his grim face stained with tears as warm spit pools behind the gag that stuffs his aching mouth. The Master cups his cheek with a sticky palm, staring into the hate-filled eyes with cruel satisfaction.

“You were the perfect witness,” he explains casually. “The immortal man—the freak who will live forever with the image of what the glorified Doctor _really_ is.”

The Doctor himself says nothing, knows better than to even raise his eyes as he carefully redresses as best as he can before lightly taking hold of his partner’s proffered arm. With a sly wink and a grin at Jack, the Master turns on his heel and the pair walk back towards the elevator, disappearing from sight behind the polished steel doors. They are no longer Theta and Koschei; those hopeful, bright-eyed boys are gone, lost forever to the passage of time. Now they are just the Doctor and the Master: chosen names which have come to signify their divergent paths. It was once thought that together they might be capable of anything. Reunited once again by an unlikely twist of fate, the Doctor isn’t sure he wants to find out what they are capable of now. 


End file.
